


Shattered

by UnmadeMind



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnmadeMind/pseuds/UnmadeMind
Summary: Prompt:“Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”― Anton ChekhovAll canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.Thank you to my beta and mentor for their time and work on this story.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19
Collections: Spark of Silver





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SparkofSilver](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SparkofSilver) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> “Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”  
> ― Anton Chekhov
> 
> All canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.
> 
> Thank you to my beta and mentor for their time and work on this story.

As soon as she sees the look on his face, she regrets admitting her feelings for him. Remus Lupin’s face is pure disgust. Tonks bites her lip and feels a wave of sudden insecurity and sorrow. 

“That can’t happen.” He holds his hands out, palms toward her, as if he can push back the words she’d spoken. He doesn’t even look sorry to be rejecting her. 

Tonks huffs and pushes her fringe out of her eyes in frustration. “Remus, I can tell you feel  _ something _ for me.” 

“Oh, so you’re good at projecting feelings onto other people and reading into them what you wish?” 

He is clearly trying to detract from her statement by asking hurtful questions. 

“I’m not projecting! Stop it.” The tone of her voice becomes more intense and she needs to leave before she actually yells because the last thing she wants to do is explain to the various individuals passing through Grimmauld Place what she is upset about. She does not want a humiliating scene to top off her rejection. 

Remus leans against the library door frame and crosses his arms. He hangs his head in exhaustion and lets out a long, deep sigh.   
“Tonks, surely you, of all people, can think of a handful of really important reasons that we could never be together, right? I mean, come on. We are in the middle of a fucking war, is the first on the list—” 

“There’s always a battle somewhere, Remus.” 

“So what? We should just ignore that and jump into a relationship?” 

“That’s not what I said! I just said that—” 

“I heard what you said the first time, and frankly, I’m exhausted. Hearing that I’m kind and attractive was a great compliment, but it’s not appropriate for...” his voice trails off. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “I’m just in a different place mentally, especially right now, and it’s just too much.”

“Remus! How? How is knowing that someone loves you too much?” The words rush out of her mouth unfiltered. It is as if the essence of her heart slips into her brain, bounces around, and spills out of her mouth. 

Remus flinches as if he’s been slapped. His mouth drops open and he gapes at her for a moment before standing and shifting his weight, running a hand through his sandy hair. 

Tonks’ fight-or-flight instinct is to punch him in the ribs for being so daft and then run away before she makes the situation worse. 

“I just can’t.” 

He looks defeated as he says it, and Tonks doesn’t want to hear any more. She’d pictured this conversation so differently in her head. She’d imagined him being excited to have someone to lean into—even if they ended up not being compatible, which she is sure that they are. 

“Well, then I suppose all this was for nothing. Goodnight, Lupin.” 

She turns quickly and goes down the stairs two at a time. At the landing, she turns and looks up at him. He almost looks sorry. 

The expression on his face just fuels her rage. 

She feels her cheeks blush as her hair turns a deep burgundy. With a huff, she continues stomping down the stairs. At the bottom, she grabs the end post and swings around it, with the intention of running into the lounge for her bag and cloak so she can leave. Tears start to blur her vision and the sting of rejection squeezes at her throat, so that she doesn’t notice until she’s collided with a tall figure dressed in black. 

Her nose picks up hints of lemon zest and earthy herbs. 

“Bloody mind yourself, woman!” 

He expects her to reply with violent profanity and call him a bat or some other cave-dwelling animal, but instead she bursts into tears. 

Snape watches in confusion as a very upset dark-red-headed Nymphadora Tonks flees. The fact that she failed to tell him off a little bit  _ and _ she was weeping, disturbs him. It is Severus’ job to know people, to figure them out. Tonks is a strong woman with a witty tongue; there is no way in Hades that she is that upset about an accidental jolt and a little temper. 

In fact, he ponders, as he mounts the stairs, if anyone else had cried after running into him, he would have thought it within reason. But Tonks? Tonks is the last person on earth to weep needlessly. He is not concerned exactly, but he would be lying if he said he was not curious. 

* * *

As much as he would like to know why she is upset, though, he has more pressing matters to attend to. He is meeting soon with a customer at a nearby bar known for criminal activity. After a momentSeverus spots his target, a hooded figure in the corner table, and makes his way over, being sure that his own hood remains in place. It’ss not that he needs to remain anonymous in this place—many of their kind frequent this establishment—but it adds to the aesthetic. Death Eaters are drawn to this place for its masquerade style. It has an air of mystery that is appreciated by those who need to socialize without being too personal. 

Severus sits and pushes the vial across the table, unconcerned with trying to conceal the transaction. He can tell it makes his cohort uncomfortable. 

“This is all?”

“It is potent. Dosing is on the label. You  _ can _ read?” His smooth voice is scathing.

“Shit, I can read.” The man is gruff, annoyed with the insult, but is quick to change the topic. “I can read that lass at the bar weeping over a broken heart, and I’ve half a mind to take her upstairs and give her something to smile about.” 

Severus can not see the smile that spreads across the face of his comrade, but he feels the perversion radiating off him from across the table. Severus rolls his eyes and shifts his gaze to the bar. He can make out her profile with her shoulder-length hair, now a mixture of burgundy and black; a veil for her sorrow, he assumes. He is not sure what she is mourning, but it seems both needlessly dramatic and extremely fitting in the same breath. Severus sees duality in everything. 

“She’s quite small, dainty. I’ve not been with a dainty one in a while…” He trails off into his perverted fantasies before Severus squashes his hopes abruptly.

“She’s here to meet me.” He is not exactly sure why he said it. This woman doesn’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things, but it violates some part of what is left of his soul to leave her to be pawed at by some slovenly pervert in a damp pub. 

Severus pushes away from the table and stalks over to the bar. 

Tonks feels someone approach, and as she turns to tell whoever is beside her to kindly fuck off, Severus slides onto a barstool beside her. The edge of his hood falls back so that his profile is visible. 

“Don’t tell me to ‘fuck off,’ because if you do, the next person to proposition you will not listen to anything you say, and in fact, may likely enjoy the lack of consent.” His voice is a molten whisper and she takes a pull from her whisky as the barkeep brings Severus a drink she never heard him ask for. He either ordered with his mind or he frequents the bar enough that the employees know his drink. 

“Get out of my head,” she whispers sharply, eyes boring into the side of his face with annoyance at the way he seems to read her thoughts. 

He squares his gaze on her and takes a drink without blinking or looking away. “I am not in your head. I am, however, excellent at body language.” His eyes travel up and down the length of her in a daring sort of way. “You’re drunk.” 

“That’s not your business, and I’m more infuriated than I am drunk. I’m livid—it makes me more fun.” 

Severus’ lip curls up into a half smile. “You need to let out some rage, hmm?” 

Tonks shoots back the rest of her drink and revels in the burn of the booze. “Ahhhh, sure? You suggest I get into a bar fight with your perverted friend over there?” Her banter is sharp, but her voice is slow, bordering on slurred. 

“I would not suggest that, actually, but if you’re up for a walk, I do have just the thing that will help you let out some of your frustration.” He punctuates this invitation by finishing the clear liquid in his glass in a single drink. 

“Why the bloody hell not?” Her reply is less than enthusiastic, but she gives him half a smile. 

He slides his glass toward the barkeeper and whispers, “It must be a full moon because I am acting quite out of character.” 

At the words ‘ _ full moon,’ _ Tonks’ tears begin rolling. 

The werewolf upset her.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Severus whispers, almost regretting the invitation as he grabs her scarf and loops it around her shoulders, guiding her out the door. 

As they exit the building, the corner patron whistles suggestively. 

* * *

  
Tonks’ blurred vision, partly from the alcohol and partly from the blurred tears, casts halos and streaks of lights from lampposts that line the streets. The night is aglow. She does not know if they Apparate or walk, but before long she is standing in what is undoubtedly Severus Snape’s basement, and she stifles a laugh. 

“What’s this, then? You bring me here to kill me for kicks?” 

At that, Severus lets out a hearty laugh, which shocks her as she cannot remember ever hearing him laugh. He follows with, “This room is full of heirlooms. Things that my sorry excuse of a father hid away from my mother. I grew up poor, but it turns out my father was just a liar. So here I collect his things for when I need to… When magic does not cure my rage.” He banishes their cloaks to his hall closet and pulls his hair back into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck.   
“I’m not sure I follow.” Tonks’ eyes are puffy from crying. She’s staring at him, but there seems to be two of him, which means she’s more drunk than she realized. Then she blinks and realizes that the room has gilded mirrors on every wall. Fancy frames extend around the mirrors in golds and rubies. She’s seeing Severus and his reflections. She closes her eyes and takes a long, calming breath. 

She smells the cigarettes and lemon again, and feels Severus’ breath against the back of her head as he speaks a quiet invitation. 

“Take this in your hand.” 

She looks down. He’s standing behind her with his hand offering what appears to be a stunning emerald paperweight made of glass with blue globes inside. It’s quite pretty, but when she holds out her hand and he places it in her palm, she is not ready for the weight of it. It pulls her hand down and slides from her grasp. 

She gasps as it shatters on the floor. Tonks begins to apologize, but Severus’ laughing breath blows across her shoulder as he leans in to whisper in her ear, “Break it like he broke you.” 

Instead of crying, which is what she’s been doing for hours now, the statement fuels her rage, and she grabs a silver candelabra and hurls it at a large mirror mounted on the wall. 

She flings ceramic figures, throws china with light blue detailing and gold edging, and hurls teacups that crash into a lamp, toppling it onto the cold stone floor. 

She spots a jewelry box and lifts it over her head, screaming out as she throws it to the ground and stomps the delicate stained-glass top. Rainbows of glass cover the floor while colorful jewels spill out like treasure dumped from a pirate’s chest. 

Severus watches for a few moments, his arms crossed, leaning against the door frame. As he sees her begin to wind down, he pulls a barrel out from a corner and brings it to the center of the room. 

Tonks heaves a sigh and feels her adrenaline flowing through her body, fingers and ears throbbing with her heartbeat. She pushes her fringe to the side and looks at Severus with renewed energy. “What’s this?” 

“A game I’ve just made up.” He pries the lid off the barrel with gusto and inside are small bottles of colored liquid. He lifts one up—the liquid is reddish orange—uncorks it and smells it. After drinking it, he flings it at a painting hung on the far wall. “Pixie liquor.” 

He hands Tonks a violet vial as he lifts out a light green one. “Cheers.” 

He throws the empty tube of glass, and before long they are both drinking and flinging glasses in a frenzy. 

Tonks foregoes drinking some of the oddly colored ones and tosses them to see the color explode against the grey walls of the basement. She turns to Severus and wonders, “Do you ever look at things and realize they aren’t actually like what they are in real life?” 

Severus tilts his head at her, trying to follow, but her words are slurred and he’s finding the whole of her blurry around the edges. 

She tries again. “Have you ever loved someone with your whole self, and told them, just to be tossed aside in the end?” 

His face falls and he cannot hide the emotion that flies across his face: grief. Heavy, weighty, undoable grief. 

“It fucking  _ hurts _ , Severus.” It sounds like a prayer. 

All he can do is nod. The knot growing in his throat is partly from too much pixie liquor and partly from this damned frame of mind he’s been in lately. 

“I’m tired of crying over him. I’m tired of trying to be good enough and to convince him that we both share the same feelings. If he needs convincing, frankly, I must be—” 

Severus stops her with a finger to her lips. His voice is gentle this time. “Shh. Don’t. I’m not good at boosting morale and you seem like a woman who knows these things intuitively, so please do not finish that sentence. He’s daft. He’s being daft because he is afraid.” 

“I am fractioned.” 

“What?” 

“There’s this loneliness that has manifested into a physical feeling of being broken apart. Severus, I can  _ feel  _ the broken shards of my heart. I'm like this room. Shattered glass.” She moves his hand down to her heart. “In here.” 

Severus swallows and wonders at how raw and honest she is being toward him. It shocks him. It calls to him. In a life of duplicity and lies, he is drawn to her raw truth like a moth to a flame. He slowly moves his hand from her chest up to the back of her neck as her hands find his waist. They step closer, and when their lips meet, there is a gasp and a heat that engulfs them both. 

He clears a table, trinkets and baubles shattering to the floor, and lifts her onto it. There is panting and the kiss deepens. Locks of his hair escape their bonds. 

She sits on the edge of the table, her knees wrapped around his waist. His hands stay at her head and neck as she pulls at his clothes and explores his body frantically. She gropes him and he moans, his arousal betraying him. 

Their heated encounter ends with his completion at her hand, and her pleasure on his tongue. 

* * *

There are no words as she buttons his shirt and he savors the essence of her on his lips. He pulls her jeans up for her and kisses the place right below her belly button as he snaps and zips them. Tonks lets out a content sigh and rolls her head toward the ceiling. 

“What now?” she whispers as she looks at the broken glass strewn about the room. 

“Tea.” He grabs her hand and leads her upstairs to his living quarters where they share a full kettle and several biscuits before even speaking. 

Tonks smiles at him from behind her teacup. There is a rosy glow to her cheeks and her hair is back to bubblegum pink. Severus finds the color less revolting now because he knows he’s had a hand in her happiness.

“It’s a shame you won’t remember this encounter.” His voice is soft, sad as it breaks the silence. 

“What’s that?” She leans back on the sofa and closes her eyes. Her lids are heavy. “Oh, I’ll not forget this, Severus Sn—” and a snore escapes her mouth as her teacup falls to the floor and shatters. 

He cringes, not for the shattered teacup or the hangover they’ll both wake up with, but for the fragility we all carry inside us that waits to be treasured or shattered by another. We are all so very fragile. 

He never did like to drink; his father ruined that habit for him. He supposes she might remember pieces of it, but he doubts she will think it real. Severus is far too good at being fractionated for anyone to believe they ever saw all of him. No one wants to trust him, and yet they must trust him in order to have their way. The duplicity of humanity in the face of love is the definition of pain, and pain defines so many people, including Severus Snape.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> S&R: CRW (Constructive Reviews Welcome)


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